Damaged Goods
by Jodie-of-Suburbia
Summary: “Nobody ever really changes. I understand now, that I’m never gonna change. Neither are you, because we’re both just damaged goods.” Was he right? Could Sylar change for the person who needs him most? AU: I am Become Death timeline. FutureGabriel and Noah


**A/N: I haven't been fanfic-ifying in forever, but this little number has been running around in my head for too long! I've decided to take my own advice, and write it down before I go crazy!**

**The fic is rated T for some mild language and angst throughout. **

**Disclaimer: Guess what I don't own!!! Wow… there are way too many right answers here… the one I was looking for was "Heroes… duh!" Please don't sue!**

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Damaged Goods

Chapter 1 – Hunger

Who would have thought my life could be ruined by a goddamn piece of paper? Did Isaac, that worthless addict, paint pretty pictures of me before I even knew who I was, who I would become? Angela Petrelli probably knew, but she's always had more important things to worry about— a company to run, lies to tell, a world to save. She was really only ever good at lying.

But none of that matters now; I'm here to end it.

This thin sheet of paper would be the smallest and weakest of all the pathetic things and people I've destroyed in my life, so why can't I bring myself to get rid of it?

I glare down at the list I've painstakingly compiled after all this hunting, and my eyes focus in on the names written in neat rows down the page.

Who am I kidding? I know why I can't destroy this list.

_The hunger_.

To know more.

To have more.

To _be _more.

I can't fight it, not by myself. Even now it's nearly overwhelming.

It starts deep in my chest, clenching and twisting. I draw shorter, faster breaths as my eyes trail down the long list of names. I have to have it, all of it. I could to, it's all mine for the taking. My heart races and my head swims with the power right at my finger tips.

I can taste it.

These names are just place holders for abilities that should be mine already. These aren't people, with lives and families and futures - this is power.

The hunger is all-consuming. The need burns through my body. I can't think, but I don't have to. I could just rely on my oh-so-special _intuition_ to hunt, to corner, to kill. It's worked before, and who am I to ruin a perfect system? Who could stop me?

A small sound in the corner of the room reminds me exactly who has that power.

My two month old son rolls over in his peaceful sleep. Noah… my son… I can hardly wrap my head around it.

God, he's just so… small. And _so_ mine. He's got my eyebrows, poor kid. I didn't grow into those things until I was twenty. His dark eyes stand out against his pale skin, and I don't know how he manages it, but the kid is beautiful.

How could _I_ possibly have made something so innocent? Or so helpless? He needs me. Nobody's every _needed_ me like that before. I haven't exactly had the best experiences with parents, but I'll be damned if I can't figure out how to do it right for him.

He is truly special. Not flying, mind reading, spontaneous regenerating special_, _well maybe he is, I don't know, but that's not what's important to me anymore.

I look down at the list in my hands. I turn the delicate paper over, and see one last name scrawled across the back of the page.

Sylar

I can't do this, I can't _be _this anymore. Only one name can really matter to me now – Noah Gray. I don't know how to be a good father, but I know where I have to start.

A tiny blue spark from my hand ignites a corner of the paper. The fire smolders along the edges, and my eyes follow the hungry flame. There's a part of me that wants to stamp it out, and salvage what's left of my precious list, my precious power, but I don't move as the paper is devoured. I release the page when the blaze becomes too hot, and my old life is reduced to smoking ash on the floor.

The old watch ticking softly on my hand is running four seconds slow, but I'm feeling so free that I barely even notice.


End file.
